


The Glass Remains

by centali



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alex belongs to thewittyarsonist, F/M, G4G, Grunkle4Grandpa, I am making up names for some unnamed characters, I'm thirsty for Carla, also this motherfuckin better be canon, well actually shermie just happens to be Stan's middle name whoops, who the fuck is shermie?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 18:54:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7280638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/centali/pseuds/centali
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were bits and pieces that Stan remembered but never told, and Carla will always be one of them. From Glass Shard Beach on, this story shows the relationship that these two developed, and the affects of its remains. </p><p>--</p><p>G4G</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Glass Remains

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. So. Stan and Ford are actually twelve in this, but they found the boat when they were ten in my mind. Carla is basically hermione in this chapter so give my smol a break. uh. im writing this at midnight and i dont give a fucking fuck. If i make mistakes message me ill fix them.

The night fell on the little Jersey town, much like the day did. Though the sun no longer beat its heavy rays on the sizzled people below, the night was still warm with its remains. The streets, this late at night, were empty of all pedestrians, and the crickets murmured under soft patches of grass. Many had fallen asleep long before the moon was at its highest point, before the stars began to dab the sky lightly under the heavy blanket of smog. All in all, a relaxing night befell the people of Glass Shard Beach.

That is, until Stanley Pines stepped into the streets, expressing his anger through bouts of loud and fervent cursing.

The events of the day unfolded in such a manner that had ruined the night, making Stanley believe any part of the twenty-four hours past was, in a word, stupid. This made his boisterous and tumultuous family, with exception of his Ma, also stupid. And, according to Stan Pines, anything that could happen in the vicinity of  _ right now _ was just  _ stupid _ .

This brought Stan to the once quiet streets, a stream of explicits rolling off his tongue into the now sullied summer air. He passed the closed shopfronts by loudly stomping his unprotected feet on the cool pavement, he lightly punched the stone walls and made his knuckles chafe harshly, and when someone inevitably yelled at him from an open window, he screamed back, “ _ Why don’t you can it, ya dope!” _

It wasn’t until he reached the safe confines of the beach when his continuous cursing died, and when he began scoping the empty beach for his goal. The shadowed boat lay on a stretch of glass covered sand, with bits of debris scattered across the dunes surrounding it. He didn’t approach it at first, and instead looked for the tools that he and Stanford had hidden in the cave. He trekked further, avoiding the glass and pushing his anger down. Upon entering the cavern, he skimmed through the trinkets and thingamabobs he and Ford collected eagerly through the years. Pushing past a beat up painting of a crying clown, he found the toolbox between the walls of the cavern and a voodoo doll of Crampelter, tucked away from thieves digging through treasure trash. As he picked it up, though, he heard something rustle between the odd objects, and swung around to face the blackened area of the cave. Squinting his eyes, he saw nothing, but shrugged when he realized it was probably another sandpiper nesting in the crooks and nannies. He gathered what was needed, and left the cool cave for the warmer beach.

_ The thing is creepy at night _ , Stanley thought, as he approached the small boat, looking at its frayed sails blowing gently in the night breeze, and its gaping black holes in the torn apart hull. He thought of how Stanford would make a witty comment about supernatural creatures who would hide themselves in the interior of the boat, how maybe the Jersey Devil would crawl inside and stalk its victims at night. At the thought, Stanley smirked, but upon remembering the events of the past day, immediately scowled.

He tried not to think of it, think of Stanford’s beet red face and how his six fingered hands clenched into fists, think of the cruel words the two brothers willingly directed at each other, think of the realization dawning on Ford’s when Stan blurted out his feelings, and now Stan feels so  _ stupid _ , and the only way to escape his emotional blunder was to leave the house cursing. 

_ I’m always dependin’ on you, and you’re never dependin’ on me! _

Stan covered his face in frustration, feeling the red and splotchy blush spreading. He felt annoyed at himself for allowing their argument to get to him and accidental blabbing, but also Stanford for disregarding how he spent his time. His mind grew clouded with pure anger and hatred, not at Stanford, but at his stupid and plain  _ self _ .

Stan swung his fist hard, and ignored the sudden pain that pierced his knuckles when his fist met with the corroded wood. He didn’t think about how the hull took months to assemble most of it together, all he thought about was that stupid fight and how stupid  _ he _ is.

Briefly, he remembered the temporary flag, his shirt tied firmly to the mast, now moving gently against the small breeze. The sandy and sun-stained shirt seemed to taunt the child, whose face was getting more and more red with anger. He climbed atop the boat, an idea springing into his mind, and grabbed ahold of the rickety mast, pulling his body upwards until he reached the top. He was an inch away from snapping up the flag and tearing it to pieces when a frantic cry jarred him from his anger. “Stop!”

He whirled around, clutching the mast, shocked to find someone here late at night, and when he saw the person who spoke, more surprise flooded him. Upon the sandy dunes was girl with curled, brown pigtails and a pleated dress, with her eyes wide and fists clenched. She had that same look on her face when she found out that Stan had been caught cheating on a test, and he felt the same annoyance rise up that he had then. “Carla McCorkle!” He yelled, a condescending tone prevalent in his words. “Ain’t it past your bedtime, or somethin’?”

Carla stopped her foot, which Stan noticed was completely free from dainty socks and shoes, a feature that neat li’l McCorkle is certain to never be seen without, and wagged her tiny finger at him. “You can’t take that flag down!”

Stan sneered at her. “Jokes on you, McCorkle, I wasn’t gonna take it down.”

She put her hands on her hips. “And what, exactly, did you plan to do with it?” She asked, an inquisitive brow raised, her voice tinged with superiority that he heard in all his teachers. He hated that look,  _ a lot _ , and it only inflamed his crimson face.

He climbed down the mast, leaving the flag behind, and steadily walked on the creaking boards of the ship. He dropped down to the beach, and gave her a look of contempt of which he only reserved for the nagging McCorkle. “I was gonna ruin it.” He answered.

She blinked, shocked, and took a step back. She was aware the Stan twins had been working for months on this project, Stan knew, because he saw her looking longingly at them when they were doing a project. She must’ve noticed how diligently and how close they worked together, because then she asked, “Why would you do that?”

Stan glared down at his slightly injured hand, suddenly realizing he had revealed too much, and as to avoid possibly showing his more vulnerable side, he mumbled, “It ain’t your business.”

“You hurt yourself.” Carla remarked, and gingerly grabbed his hand, attempting to be friendly to Stan, despite his stubbornness. “Here let me-”

He pulled away from her. “ _ I _ ain’t your business, neither!”

Carla returned his glare with a fearsome look. “I’m just trying to he-”

“ _ I don’t need more help! _ ” Stan snapped. Carla recoiled, hurt. Stan felt guilt creep up him, and shame tinged his cheeks. He didn't realize Carla even cared enough for him, and felt especially guilty when he glanced at her looks, which were far less neat than how she normally presented herself. Her normally neat pleated skirt was covered in sand and wrinkled, and her tidy bows that held together her gentle curls were askew, and the curls in her hair dissolved into balls of frizz. What really threw him for a loop were her features, once so pinched from looking down her nose at people, were sadder. Her eyes were red from what he could only assume was crying, and she no longer held herself with same dignity as she did in school. He found himself stuttering out an apology.

She didn’t, at first, seem to forgive him, then a small smile played at her lips, and that was all he needed to see. A brief moment passed between them, with Carla smiling and Stan uncomfortably standing in the middle of the sand dunes avoiding her gaze. Stan knew she had clearly went through some emotional dealings, and she understood the same for him. The moment ended when she cast a sympathetic glance towards the ship behind him, and said, “Looks like you need to control your anger.”

Stan looked behind him and saw the extent of his damage to the ship. There were three giant craters left behind in his fury, and a new anger rose up inside him. He was infuriated, the ship he and brother fruitlessly worked upon was partially destroyed, and once again his anger was directed at himself. He let his anger take out that many weeks of hard work, though that wasn’t an uncommon feeling. He cussed, and began to gather some of the wood he and Ford left behind to fix the holes that were there previously, and began to pry the broken pieces of wood from the ship to replace them. “So,” said Carla conversationally, as Stan began to toil on the boat, “What made you destroy this huge project you and your brother have been working on?”

Stan gave her a quick unamused glance, before continuing on with fixing the mistakes he made tonight. “You’re not gonna stop, are ya?”

She merely gave him a sly smile.

“I still ain’t talkin’. It’s a private matter, ya know.” They sat in a comfortable silence while Stan hammered away at the boat. He tried to ignore Carla, who determinedly climbed atop of the ship and was now sitting on deck, occasionally giving him a meaningful glance as to get him to spill his guts.

Instead of ignoring her, however, he thought of Carla’s bizarre appearance once again, and how strange it was to see Carla here late at night. He found himself wondering about why Carla was even there in the first place, and how she became so disheveled when she normally is so careful with her appearance. He stopped hammering the nail into it a board, and turned to Carla, mouth open.

“What?”

“Nah… nothin’...”

“Come  _ on _ , what?”

Stan brought the hammer down on the nail once again, ignoring the annoyingly curious look that Carla frequently displayed on her face. He sighed, knowing he wasn't gonna escape her line of questioning anytime soon, and finally asked, “I was just wonderin’, well… what you were doin’ here,” He glanced up at her and pointed awkwardly, “Lookin’ like that.”

Carla blinked, astonished to find that he even cared, but composed herself under the realization that he didn’t even speak of his own issues but wished to talk of her’s. She quirked her brow again and smirked, “I’ll talk about my issues,” she quipped, and leaned leisurely against his ship, content to never leave, “when you start talking about your own, pal.”

“Nah, no way. I ain’t doin’ that again.” Stan said with a wry and breathy laugh.

Carla sat up suddenly, like she does in class when she has an interesting question to ask the teacher, with that same sparkle of inquisitiveness glowing in her eyes. “What’s going on?”

“I said I’m not tellin’ ya.”

“Look, I know you don’t like me-” He swallowed his guilt when he heard her slightly hurt words.

“-but you have to… you know, express yourself in a better way than just beating the crud out of wood.”

Stan wanted to laugh, but that would just give her satisfaction. He didn't like being pressed to talk about his feelings, he already spoke enough about them to his brother. He remained silent. Carla slumped against the deck.

“Seriously?”

The ringing of the hammer joined the tranquil sounds of the beach as Stan insisted on ignoring her.

Carla blew a breath of agitation, disturbing her frizzed curls that clung to her face, and plainly said, “Quit being stupid, Stan Pines, and just tell me.”

Her words immediately brought anguish on both kids as Stan threw the hammer down and stomped away from the ship, anger rising off of him much like the waves that crashed down not too far from them. Carla shot up and began to scramble down the ship, chasing after the seething preteen. “Stan, wait!”

“I ain’t dealin’ with this again!” Stan kept walking away from her, face regaining its former splotchy state.

“Stan, I’m sorry, I was teasing!” Carla nervously laughed, scared to lose a chance at gaining a friend. “Stop!” She called out again.

Stan spun, his heated glare stopping her in her tracks. He pointed a finger at her, and she instinctively bowed her head, as if admonished. “I’m tired of bein’ around people who think I’m stupid. That’s all I see everyday! From Stanford, from teachers, even from  _ you _ , Carla! Just because I don't do what the teachers want, or because I don't follow orders, or because I don't give a rat’s  _ ass _ about books and studyin’; none of it means I’m god damned _ stupid! _ ”

His rant was cut short when he looked at the hurt in her eyes and cringed inwardly because of his inability to control what spilled out his mouth. Cursing again, he covered his head with his arms, wishing to wallow in self-loathing on the beach, and wishing that Carla didn't come here so he wouldn't have hurt her. “I’m sorry.”

Never, in a million years, did he think he was good enough for forgiveness, but Carla sat down next to him.

“I’m sorry, too.” Carla mumbled back, voice tinged with emotion.

Stan looked up at her in astonishment.

She smiled briefly, the hurt look vanishing from her face. She crossed her arms over her legs and watched the ocean tumble onto the shards of glass that remained from days past. “I’m sorry I ever made you feel stupid.”

Stan didn’t quite know how to react. He couldn't claim he knew anyone who ever said that, not even Stanford. It was the first time someone apologized, and it's the first time someone actually believed he wasn't stupid. It's not that he needed her confirmation, he told himself, but  _ damn it _ if it didn’t feel good. She was one of the few people who cared enough to tell him.

Her kind words made guilt rise up in him again. Here she was, reaffirming that he wasn’t as stupid as everyone makes him think, and he still hurts her. “God, Carla. I’m so sorry that I made you cry. I didn’t mean-”

She raised a hand to stop him. “It's okay, Stan. I wasn't even crying because you hurt my feelings or anything. It's just, well…” She began to wring the fabric of her dress in her hands. “I realized you got a bad rap for nothing, and you’ve had to deal with that for  _ so long _ . You’re actually really nice.” She smiled shyly at him. “And  _ not _ stupid.”

Stan smiled slightly. “You don't even know that. I could be dumb as a rock and still say I ain’t stupid.”

Carla shrugged. “I don't know, but I trust you.”

Stan grinned at that, and then they watched the shore in silence.

Though they’ve known each other their whole lives, they never took the time to understand one another. Once Stan thought Carla was a knowitall like his brother… and well, he was right, but he never imagined she was also sweet and caring.  _ She did not get that from her folks, that's for sure,  _ Stan thought to himself, and then realized he didn't get his lackadaisical attitude from his Pops either. Then his thoughts, again, diverted back to her strange appearance, and he battled inwardly with himself for a full minute before asking, “So what’s with the beat up looks?” He immediately groaned inwardly at his choice of words.

Carla didn't notice his internal struggle and responded with a sigh, “If I say my deal, you have to tell yours. You got it?” She turned to him, brow raised.

“Ugh, Carla. Don’t you think I’ve done enough with all the…  _ emotional ventin’ _ and crud?”

She smirked. “Clearly not enough. Like I said, you need to let your emotions out without all the punching.” She gently punched him in the arm, an encouraging grin lighting up her face. “Besides I want the  _ full  _ story of what happened with you.”

Stan struggled for a minute, looking at her challenging smile, before holding out his hand. “Deal.”

She gladly took his hand, a spark in her dark eyes, and settled herself so she could begin to tell the story.

Her cheerful demeanor fell away, however, as she prepared to tell her story. “Stan, you should know.” Her hands immediately began wringing her skirt again, the spark fading from her eyes. “My family isn't as… open minded as yours is.”

Stan looked at her and snorted. “You think my family is  _ open minded? _ ”

Carla shook her head quickly, eyes widened. “No! Well, I mean… your mom is. Isn't she?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, she is. She’s the only one, though. My Pa? Not so much.”

She chuckled darkly. “My Papa and your dad would get along just  _ fine,  _ then.”

He thought about what his Pa said to them on a daily basis, and how he treated Stanford and him. He demanded too much of Ford, refused to devote any time for Stan, and he was the sole reason of why anyone thought of Stan as a loser. He frowned at this, because anyone similar to his Pa wasn't someone he wanted to be close to, and not someone he would associate with Carla.  It was no wonder why she was always one of the smartest kids in class; her father probably treated her the same way Filbrick treated Stanford. This prompted him to ask, “Carla, what happened between you and your dad?”

She bit her lip. “It wasn’t exactly something that happened between  _ me _ and my dad.” she explained. She brought her knees to her chin and let her blank gaze fall onto the crashing waves, as if recalling the events that unfolded earlier in the day. “It was something that happened to my sister.”

Stan blinked, remembering the girl who had the same long brown curls as Carla. Her strong vivacity was matched only by her sharp wit, and she always seemed to be at odds with her father. Stan respected her for going against the crowd, but also feared for her, knowing the imposing role Principal McCorkle had over the teens that went to the local high school. He imagined the two contrasting people, though they were family, would not have a good relationship. Stan frowned at this thought.  _ Sounds familiar,  _ he thought sarcastically.

Carla fell back onto the beach, allowing the cool sand to stick to her dress. “My sister came back from college,” she said hesitantly, “and we expected her to and all, but…”

Concern fell over his face as Carla visibly paled in the gloomy light. “When she arrived, it was better than how are conversations with her normally go. Lola usually fights with my dad constantly, but for once it was…  _ really nice _ . Dad didn't even bring up politics  _ once _ , and neither did Lola. Which, if you know them well,” she laughed quietly to herself, “you know that it's hard for  _ both _ of them to do.”

Her smile widened as she continued, “We talked about how her college is going, the people in her classes, how her grades got way better. We never really talked about her activism or any of that, and I was  _ really _ happy.” She sighed happily. “Our family never enjoys each other's company without jumping down each other’s throats. But…”

She closed her fist on a mound of sand and watched the grains fall through the cracks of her fingers, and stared, deep in thought. “She didn’t…” she sighed and cringed, trying to find an easier way of voicing her emotions. “She didn’t want to visit us… necessarily.”

Stan looked at her with confusion.

Seeing his quirked brow, Carla elaborated in a quieter voice, “She wanted to tell us some news.”

The silence hung heavy between the two as Stan maintained his confused composure and Carla continued to awkwardly fidget with objects around her. The news that befell the McCorkle family must’ve been grave enough to make Carla’s appearance slightly more ragged than what was normal for her. Clearly it was enough to avoid talking to Stan about it, and Stan knew her only for her willingness to be open with her emotions, and the fact that she remained to be silent on such a matter was greatly concerning for the preteen boy. He hesitantly asked, “What was the news?”

She stopped fidgeting and looked up at Stan, her dark brown eyes more intense than he has ever seen them. “Stan, you have to promise me something. You can’t tell this to  _ anyone _ , okay?”

Stan voice was quiet from surprise when he gave his agreement, knowing by the fevered look she gave him that he could not even bring himself to tell a soul.

She sucked in a breath, and when she spoke her voice remained steady, “My sister wanted to tell us… she was pregnant.”

She ignored him as he reared back in shock and continued to speak about her familial issues, “It’s just so nice being around her, for once, you know? When we were smaller she was always doing my hair... and getting me albums from the record store to hide from my Mama and Pa. It was so much easier back then, even when all she would do with my father is  _ fight _ . She was only being nice to my Pa because she thought being cheerful would somehow soften the blow. And… it didn’t work. God, I wish it worked, but it didn’t.” Her voice became tight as she continued, the steely brown stare that looked through him moments before dissolved into tear-filled eyes in a heartbeat. Then she said in a low whisper, “Stan, I… I haven’t seen my Dad become this angry ever.”

He froze. He didn’t understand the levity of the situation, and he thinks he never will, but the feeling of a father being overwhelmingly angry was all too familiar to Stan. While Carla has struggled through the same extremities that he had throughout his life, he could not bring himself to comfort the girl who clearly was hurt by her current situation. The angle of which they sat was too awkward to go for a hug, and Stan himself was feeling a bit too uncomfortable to bring himself to do that in the first place. A blush formed on his cheeks when he thought about putting his arm around her shoulder, so in the end he opted to tentatively place his hand on her shoulder, which had begun to quake with small sobs.

Feeling his thumb slowly moving reassuringly on her shoulder was enough to rouse Carla from her quiet crying, and she brought her palms to her face, wiping away the tears. “She was doing well in school because of her pregnancy. She wants her baby to have privileges, to have a good life. She says doing well in college is the only way for that to happen.” She looked distant as she said, “Didn’t stop my Pa from cutting her off.”

The beat of the waves once again filled the silence between them.

“Pa says I can’t see her again.”

He felt his hands curl into fists.

Before he had this conversation with Carla, he was perfectly happy as condemning Carla as the shameless ass-kisser who happened to be in the same class as him. Now she was, like him, suppressed under a father who didn’t care enough to raise the children he claimed to love properly. She was in circumstances she could not change, and she was forced to leave her sister behind her.  _ She’s like me,  _ he thought begrudgingly,  _ if she even speaks up against those ideals she’s screwed. _

“This entire thing with my sister has lead me to one thought,” Carla began, a resolute look on her face beginning to form. “I can’t stay in my house when my parents, especially my Pa, are like this. That’s why I came here and hid in that small cave. I need… I need to get my emotions out without my Pa around, okay?” She turned and lifted her chin at him, eyes sharp. “I’m not going to leave because you tell me to.”

The look that once annoyed him now softened him, knowing now that she became stubborn only at her most vulnerable. “So that was you in the cave earlier?” Curiosity made his voice rise.

She nodded.

“Okay,” he lightly smiled, astonished.

“Fine then,” Still stern faced, she breathed, as if lifting a weight off her shoulders. Then nudged him. “It’s your turn.”

He prickled, completely forgetting their deal until this moment, but willing to hold his end of the bargain. “Uh…” he began, far less eloquently than Carla. “Well mine isn't as heartbreakin’ as yours was, so don’t look at me like I’m delicate or anythin’.”

She giggled and his lips twitched, and despite the conversation ahead of him, he felt light. Her expectant gaze, however, was a lot more alarming to Stan than he cared to admit, so he began to spill his guts. “I had a fight with Ford.”  _ And that’s all. _

She huffed at his lack of description. “You have to be more descriptive than that, Stan.”

This time Stan chuckled. “Carla, you may be expressive, but it ain’t easy for us guys.”

Annoyance flashed on her face and Stan cleared his throat, deciding immediately that that route was not a route one would take with Carla McCorkle. “I had a fight with Ford… because I think he thinks I’m stupid.”

Carla’s look of annoyance vanished under a look of sympathy, and Stan found himself wishing that she would look at him as if he were less like a lost puppy and more if he were an annoying buzzing fly. That way he could separate Carla from how the rest of the world treats him.”Were you lyin’ about how you don’t think I’m stupid?” The words fell out of his mouth.

Carla blinked, and immediately frowned, irritation and humor battling for the dominant emotion on her face. “No.” she finally said, humor winning over, laughter on her lips, as if it were an obvious answer. “I know you’re clever. You just don’t show it.”

“How do you know?”

She grinned, and it didn’t seem amiable, rather, it seemed to be a longing smile. “I hear about all the shenanigans that you and your brother get into, and usually it sounds like an idea that only you could’ve come up with. They were all good ideas, by the way.”

He felt his face grow warm at the compliment, for he himself never really thought that anyone would count that as a mark of wit. Carla’s compliment allowed for Stan to be more willing to open up, and Stan judged by her triumphant smirk, that was her goal all along. He didn't know, however, Carla also liked seeing Stan confident in himself.

“Alright,” he began again, a sigh of defeat escaping him. “I’ll tell you.”

Carla’s wide and expectant gaze once again fell on him.

Unlike Carla, Stan didn’t have a clue as to what he would say, nor did he find himself prepared to express himself, especially if it meant he had to do it like Carla. Still, he knew he would feel bad if he didn’t follow through with his end of the bargain. He began again, this time deciding to be more forward with his story. “My brother and I were fine until he said he wanted to go to a stupid science nerd camp.”

Carla’s brows furrowed, confused as to how that would stir up the Pines brothers. This confusion was resolved when she remembered how close the pair of twins were; never once did she see them apart.  _ Except for this time, _ Carla thought, concern rising. The science camp mean they would spend a summer apart for the first time in their lives, something Stan probably wouldn’t want to experience, and would never wish to. 

Stan didn’t pick up the look of comprehension that dawned on Carla’s face and rushed to explain, “I didn’t really want Stanford to leave. I mean… I realize we gotta be a part eventually, but we got a long time so I figured… why not stave it off for as long as we could, y’know?”

Carla was still quiet when Stan resumed to tell his story. “But it really wasn’t that that started the fight. I know Ford could tell I was kinda down in the dumps about him leavin’, he was tryin’ to cheer me up and everything. It was actually in the middle of his bad attempts at cheerin’ me up where I got an idea.” Stan stopped there, the ever present blush reforming on his face.

Carla understood that he must have hit a nerve, when Stan’s clenched into fists for the millionth time that day. “I said I thought it might be a cool idea if I went to that  _ lame _ nerd camp with him and he… he just freakin’ laughed at me.” He dug his fist into the sand, lips pressed thin. “I got angry that he was laughin’ at me; as if I can’t handle bein’ around a bunch of nerds talkin’ about space or chemicals? I demanded to know what was so funny, as if I didn’t know.” 

An idea rose in Carla’s mind as he huffed about his brother. His attitude with the boat, his sensitivity about his intelligence; it all boiled down to one issue. Everywhere the young preteen kid turned, he faced ridicule from those who believed him to be stupid, and to be thought of as stupid by your own brother…

Carla immediately placed her hand on Stan’s fist, which now shook with anger and, if Carla dared believed it, sorrow. “You don’t have to go on if you don’t want to, Stan. I get it.”

He loosened up, his shoulders visibly relaxing. “He didn’t actually say it, I just knew. I got so mad I left the house. I headed straight for the beach, and didn’t bother to think twice. I was so determined to break apart everything we worked on, until… until you showed up.” By now, Stan showed no signs of anger, just regret, and what appeared to be gratitude. “Uh… thanks.” he threw a grateful glance towards Carla.

Carla smiled. “Stan, we were both a little more emotional than we usually are today. I helped you and you helped me. And despite what you might think, I didn’t mind doing it all.” Her dark eyes glowed under the dimly lit night sky. “That’s what friends do.”

Stan blanched. He never really considered himself friends to anyone besides Stanford. In fact, he was certain that he was going to live out the rest of his days being around Stanford and only Stanford. The thought of another friend didn’t reach his mind until now, and now it only brought about warmth in him. He couldn’t believe it was only yesterday he couldn’t stand the sight of the girl, now he enjoys her company more than most people he knew. The thought that she took equal comfort in his friendship with her brought a large grin to his face. “Yeah, friends.” He lightheartedly agreed, and was happy to find an equally large grin on her face.

The next few hours at the beach were no longer in depth talks about emotions, as both were tired of the weariness that often comes with such conversations. Instead, they discussed their favorite games, Carla even drew the hopscotch game in the flattest plane of sand she could find, and after a few minutes of arguing with Stan whether it was a girly game or not, she got him to halfheartedly hop his way across the loosely drawn lines. He spoke about his favorite albums that his mother would sometimes get him when they could afford it, and Carla enthusiastically told him of the times she smuggled records into her home when her sister wasn’t around. They both agreed that the Rolling Stones was one of the best bands, but Carla and he disagreed about the Beatles, his argument being that they were only meant for girls, and her argument being that Stan was a stuck up butthead. They talked of little things; Stan told her of his love of horror films and how the best pranks always involved scaring people, and by the end of that conversation Carla had managed to convince Stan to be a part of the next prank he planned.

Carla wasn’t like anything he dreamed she would be. Or rather, she first appeared to be a nightmare. But Stan knew behind the snobbish, smartass exterior was an independent and fun girl screaming to get out, and Stan wanted to be the person that helped her escape.

The sun had peeked from beyond the horizon by the time they were too exhausted to be on that beach any longer. Carla was yawning, and whatever previous cleanliness that she had in hours preceding the night had disappeared under the mounds of sand that now covered her hair and clothes. Stan was used to the sand, but not used to how late he had stayed up, and was now dragging his feet as he and Carla left behind the littered dunes.

As one of the many gestures of their friendship, Stan agreed to walk Carla to her home, seeing as it was so early in the morning. He didn’t know, however, that Carla lived in the far nicer area of Glass Shard than he did, and he found himself looking up at the red brick home with little flower pots in the windows. His attention was diverted, however, when felt arms encircle around his body, and found Carla nestling her head in his shoulder. He held his breath, unused to girls giving him this kind of attention, but found his arms make their way around Carla’s torso. His heart skipped a beat when he felt Carla mumble into his shirt, “Thank you for being my friend.”

As Carla was Stan’s first friend, Stan was Carla’s.

He hugged her a little tighter before she finally let go, turning her back to him as she walked up to the pristine white door. For one last time during their time together, she turned back and gave him a winning smile, which he found himself instinctively returning, and then she left.

He stared after the door a while, memorizing her look, before he began to walk to his own home. His legs moved automatically and soon he was at the door of his father’s pawn shop, which rang as he entered. Climbing the stairs one by one, and ignoring the deep snores of his father and his murmuring mother, he stopped in front of his bedroom. The door was shut tight, and darkness seeped out from under the door, but he knew Stanford would still be awake from reading paranormal books.

When he entered, the room was indeed dark, the only source of light coming from under Ford’s covers. His brother jumped, completely unaware of his surrounding as he lost himself in a book of conspiracies, and threw the covers off of him “Stan!” he exclaimed in a whisper. He pushed his glasses on his nose, an indication of his nervousness. “I didn’t know when you’d return.”

Stan blinked up at him, but didn’t acknowledge him, a shred of anger still present in him. He threw his shoes off and fell on his bed, exhausted. He didn’t try to shake off the sand, even though he knew he would irritated by it later, and found himself in a state of half consciousness in a mere moment. His brother rustled in his covers above him, and before he could find himself in a heavy sleep he heard Ford’s mumble, “I’m sorry.”

Amazement roused him. He tried to think of the last time Ford apologized to him but was unable to render a memory, his tiredness muddling his mind. He knew that it was hard for Ford to acknowledge how wrong he is sometimes, which only made him respect him more when actually apologized or recognized his wrongdoings. Now Stan could not find any anger with him, only gratification. In midst of his state of shock he had realized he had not responded. “It’s okay.”

He heard a sigh from the top bunk, and Stan took that as his release from the conversation. It was true, he thought he and his brother would be having this conversation again in time, but for now he could not bring himself to care. For now, a sand covered girl with messy pigtails drifted in and out his mind.


End file.
